


Between Two Lungs

by GasDancer



Series: Young Volcanoes [3]
Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Angst, COTT, Canon Compliant, M/M, SIAS, humbug, just picking up where we left off you know the drill by now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GasDancer/pseuds/GasDancer
Summary: "We wrote a couple of tunes together.""Like friends do?""Just like friends do indeed! Some friends..."
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Series: Young Volcanoes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521278
Comments: 52
Kudos: 75





	1. adaptation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you're new, this probably won't make much sense without reading the previous parts so I suggest doing that ;)
> 
> If you're old, welcome back and enjoy!

**CHAPTER 1**

In many ways, Brooklyn feels like he never left London.

He wouldn’t necessarily classify this as a bad thing. He’d already known Brooklyn relatively well from the times he’d been here to record, or play gigs, and the added similarity helped him acclimate all the faster. Even in the first awkward days of transition, when their stuff was still in the process of arriving and their house felt more like a temporary encampment, he still felt an ease when he stepped outside, as if he were already acquainted with these streets and now he was ready to explore all their intimate little secrets. The buildings of red brick felt achingly familiar, stretching out to endless, even blocks, intercut only by patches of green parks, a vibrant note of nature amid the bustle of metropolis. Spring was blooming all around New York, and the city that could feel so harsh and unforgiving in the winter, brimming with smoke and wind, now felt like a little pocket of serenity, sun cascading off the brownstone and making it shine nearly golden, dancing over the nascent leaves. He would walk under the canopies of cherry blossoms, inhaling the mix of pollution and pollen, and it was like he is right back in Hyde Park, looking at the skyline peaking through the trees.

There was even a bridge, too. He sat looking at it for hours with a cigarette dangling from his lips, watching the people passing through, tiny and rushed like ants surging in line. He thought the sparkling water underneath would be calming, but it just gave him a strange sense of unease like it was lying there stagnant, some hidden darkness lurking underneath.

The people were the most drastic difference by far. For two seemingly identical environments, London and Brooklyn had bred entirely different types of people. New Yorkers ran hotter, brighter even, than the more stiff characters of southern England. He found that candor and openness refreshing, and the first time a cab driver started showering him with expletives for walking into the road and making him brake abruptly, Alex couldn't help but suppress a grin at how he was transported right back into drunken rows with red-faced Sheffielders, when he was barely old enough to drink. In other ways they were all terribly American, but Alex found it easy to adapt, to lean into the differences rather than shy away from them. He didn't plan on losing himself, but he knew he’d hate to feel like he was on the outside looking in. 

The best thing about New Yorkers by far, though, was that much fewer of them had any concept of who the Arctic Monkeys were, or what their lead singer looked like, and he was much freer to walk around with minimal fear of paparazzi, or fans gawking at him as he walked past drinking his coffee, or getting lost in thought. Especially since, as the days pass, he finds himself doing more and more of the latter.

The familiarity of the city is wonderful in many ways, but it has one major, debilitating flaw. It doesn’t help him forget. 

The pavements look the same as ones he walked with Miles to get to gigs, giddy with excitement. The parks look the same as the ones they sprawled in on the rare bright days, soaking up much needed sun. The alleyways look the same as the ones they hugged in, clutching each other over their tears as they were getting ready to separate, and they look like the one that Alex got his heart wrenched out in, sobbing alone in the dark. Every time he thinks he’s found the strength to move on mentally as he did physically, to place everything in a neat little box and tuck it away behind him, another tether to his previous life emerges and it yanks him right back, tearing up his wounds all over again before they’ve even managed to scab over. The weeks pass, and the sensation the connective threads give him starts oscillating madly, one moment feeling like a safety net and the next like a spider’s web, trapping him in like a helpless fly.

At the core of it, the pain has nothing to do with the city, Alex knows. It would be the same if he'd stayed at his London house, or if he were hunkered in an igloo in the North Pole, with nothing to remind him of his previous life. What hurts the most is the absence. The jagged, bleeding hole that Miles hacked into his life when he walked out that Alex knows there’s no way to fil, not even with the grandest pleasures America had to offer. Him and Miles have had their fair share of rough patches before, not talking for stretches of time while the beast that were Alex’s burgeoning feelings bashed its way through their friendship, but none of it was ever like this. Things always ended on an awkward note, on a frosty conversation, on situations going a step too far and them frantically scrambling backwards. Every time he’d felt apprehensive, fearful, awkward, and every other bad adjective in the dictionary, but deep down he always knew that it wasn’t truly over. Miles would be there on the other side, if he’d just had the bravery to call, or text, or even just appear one day with a breezy greeting, ready to shove everything under the rug. The bad periods in between were just that, periods in between, because time would heal all, and they’d find their way across and back to each other again, maybe a bit more careful, maybe a bit more hurt, but together regardless. This time, it's all different. He tries and tries, but he sees no light in the horizon, just an cold merciless void.

_ I’m sick of you. _

That’s what you did to a sickness didn’t you? You medicated, you cut it out, you killed it and moved on to better, healthier days. You made antibodies, resilience. You left it behind and tried to forget the pain it caused you. You didn’t allow it to return, to worm its way back into your life and wreak havoc all over again. Miles had cut off all communication since that night, and Alex can't find it in himself to attempt to rectify that, as much as the need to grows and swells inside him, choking him with an iron fist.

His hand itches to reach out, every time he sees something funny and he can just hear Miles roaring laugh at it, every time he sees a beautiful sight he wants to take a picture of in his shabby phone camera and send, every time his fingers tickle out a nice melody on the guitar that he wants to play for Miles, and hear his expert opinion, and maybe even get an accompanying piece sent back, better than anything Alex could ever write. The impulse seizes him every day, multiple times a day, nearly at everything he experiences, and everytime it crashes into the towering wall of reality. He can’t talk to Miles anymore. It has been made clear in every way that he is unwanted, and Alex hates to be the one to ever press past his welcome.

His mistakes have cost him Miles forever. It’s the incontrovertible truth, but no matter how hard he tries to come to grips with it, part of him refuses to let go, sinking in its claws like a feral cat, drawing blood. 

There's a futility to all of it that's driving him insane. He can't see what he could do, even should he decide to make a move towards reconciliation, but that doesn't stop him from running through the options every day, like some twisted, senseless prayer. For better or for worse he's put an ocean between them, so a face to face conversation is out of the realm of the possible. A phone call seems woefully superficial, stiff and impersonal and wrong in every sense, a clumsy effort that would make him look even worse. Even if he were to establish contact, if Miles somehow agreed to hear him out, he has no clue what he should say for himself. He wants to explain everything, but the cataclysm inside him feels too vast and devastating to be described in words, and the English language feels nothing more than inadequate to convey it. He wants to ask for forgiveness, but the crimes he's inflicted on their friendship are too severe for a mere apology.

He could invoke the madness of love, blinding him and making him fuck up every step of the way, but the look of barely contained loathing in Miles’ eyes is engraved in his retinas, and he can’t bare to face it another time.

It’s pointless. He’s reached the end of the road, and yet he can't seem to let go, as many times as he tries to convince himself that it’s the only way. The prospect of an existence without Miles sounds like the deepest circle of hell, and everything in him is revolting, begging to at least try and crawl out of it, before he sinks in and it's too late.

He finds himself going out on walks more and more as the weather gets steadily warmer, getting lost in the crowded streets as if his body is trying to make up for the inertia of his actions. He gets a few stray looks, but mostly he’s left alone, blissfully anonymous. His hair has been getting longer and longer, soft curls edging past his jaw, and it adds to his camouflage so he makes no move to cut it. He finds it a comforting change, like he’s being transformed into someone else, something else. The man looking back in the mirror is new, softer and delicate, a kinder person who doesn't hurt the people he loves the most. He embraces him with a desperate need, and hopes that he, at least, might know how to carry him through.

\------------------------

To his utter embarrassment, the need for some form of contact drives him to the tabloids. There’s no one he can ask for news, since no one that’s close to him is also close enough to Liverpool or the Rascals to let him know at least if Miles is okay, so he ends up trawling through the gossip magazines and lifestyle columns, hoping for a glimpse of him out, an indication that he’s alright, living it up in the UK after dropping the dead weight from his life, or that he’s out there getting drunk and miserable, feeling the loss just as keenly as Alex is. He hates himself for not knowing which one he hopes for the most. 

At first there’s nothing, and he ends up learning more about the love life of reality TV stars than he ever cared to know. He gets fed up with himself after a week or so and vows to stop it altogether, but his resolve barely lasts two days. He huddles over his laptop when looking through the Daily Mail as if he’s looking at the filthiest porn imaginable, and one day when Alexa walks past the door he slams the screen down hard enough he half expects to see cracks when he carefully pulls it open again. He gives up and restarts half a dozen times, but still he never finds anything related to what he wants. Just as June crawls in, ushering tendrils of heat through the entire city, and Alex convinces himself that Miles has settled into a quiet existence back home with his mum, the headline blares in the middle of the screen, blotting everything else out. 

**_Agyness Deyn after Rascal Miles Kane._ **

It shouldn’t surprise him. It doesn’t, but he feels the haphazard sutures ripping all the same, and the cuts start bleeding anew. He remembers Agyness, a statuesque woman with spiky hair and piercing blue eyes. She was a friend of Alexa's through the modelling world, and that's how him and Miles had been introduced to her, back in the days of the tour. She was dating some rockstar or other then from what Alex can remember, but it seems now that she is single once more, and the introduction has come to fruition. He quickly skims the rest of article, his eye catching "anonymous source" and "hook up", and then he shuts off his laptop completely. 

So, Miles opted for the good time after all. He doesn’t want to give too much weight to it. Publications like that always have a penchant for bottom-of-the-barrel gossip, and half of the stuff they report on is either completely made up or blown out of proportion. He also knows, however, that these anonymous sources are usually friends or people from publicity teams, so it’s also very likely that the article is exactly what it appears. He’s alright with it. He wants Miles to be happy, and he wants him to be in love, even if Alex is not even remotely involved in any of those things. If he tells that himself enough, he might even start to believe it. 

He makes a valiant effort not to dwell, distracting himself with everything he possibly can around the house, but that same afternoon, just as he thinks he found the antidote in an episode of Breaking Bad, Alexa trots in the living room, grinning from ear to ear.

“Did you see the NME thing? About Miles and Agyness?”

Alex keeps his eyes carefully trained on the Jesse Pinkman cursing on screen. “Yeah, didn’t pay much attention.”

“Well, Agyness just called me, and she’s very excited,” Alexa says as she hops on the sofa and tucks herself in Alex’s side. “I think they’re headed somewhere.”

Alex’s hand reflexively starts toying with a strand of her hair, but he can barely register the motion. His voice sounds calm, at least. “That's good for them.”

He can feel Alexa raise her head to look up at him. “Miles hasn’t told you anything?”

“No, not really. We haven’t really spoken since I left.” He tries hard to focus on the screen, but the images have begun to feel like a blur of colours, mashing into each other. The last thing he needs is to hear more about how absolutely delightful Miles is with his new girlfriend, or be pressed on why he doesn’t seem to be anywhere near any of it.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” He hopes the smile looks genuine. “Both of us were busy I suppose, it’s been a hectic few weeks, innit?”

Alexa blessedly doesn’t ask more, humming an affirmation as they settle into the sofa, but Alex gives up any hope on following the plot anymore. So, it is serious. Miles has got a new girl that is excited about him, and he’s excited about her, and they’re gonna kiss and fuck and hold hands in the street, and they’re gonna be happy together, and he should be happy  _ for _ them. Miles deserves this, more than this, he deserves the whole wide world laid on his feet, but Alex has trouble reconciling the two forces in his chest. That dark part inside him rears its head, the one that hates her viscerally, that is roaring  _ mine, mine, mine _ in the depths, like a caged animal prowling, ready to rip off any unsuspecting arm that dares touch the bars. He curls his hand around Alexa’s shoulder, and then her voice cuts through the turmoil like it's pulling him from a dream.

“I thought I’d invite them over.”

He turns his head so sharply his neck pops. “What?”

“It’d be a great opportunity wouldn’t it? They get to have a little romantic getaway and see how things work out, you get to see Miles, I get to see Agy. It feels like it’s been forever.“

“You don’t think it’s a little early to have them take a vacation to the other side of the planet?” He manages to sound casual enough, but he can feel panic bubbling up his throat. This can’t happen. This is the absolute worst scenario he can fathom.

Alexa cocks an eyebrow. “Coming from someone that never makes big moves early in the relationship, right?”

He feels himself blush, even around the terror. “That’s not the same thing. We’re not all the same. I just...don’t think it’s gonna help in this case.”

“Relax, babe,” she reassures in that voice that indicates her mind is already made up, and any resistance is futile. “You’re just overthinking it. We’re gonna have fun.” 

She pecks him on the cheek before getting up to go to the kitchen, but Alex barely feels her lips connect over the numbness taking over his body. 

He can’t do it. He can’t. He’s been agonizing over the subtlest ways of approach for weeks, so having Miles dropped in his lap, living in his  _ house  _ seems absurd, incomprehensible, especially when he’s gonna be arriving here with his shiny new girlfriend, like some twisted version of a honeymoon. The panic overwhelms him for a while, but then a sudden clarity breaks through. 

There’s no way he’ll accept. 

Their last meeting has been replaying in Alex’s head to the point of insanity, and however much it hurts to remember it, it now serves to give him a sense of security. The Miles that basically told him to fuck off when he said he was moving away, the Miles that looked at him with such derision, the Miles that is  _ sick _ would never agree to step into his orbit again, to bring his new romance and happiness near Alex’s miasma. It won’t even feel suspicious for him to say no. The distance is too much. The trip is too long, too costly, he has other engagements with the Rascals, he shares Alex's concern on taking a trip abroad with her so soon, he wants to stay in Liverpool and fuck his girl in peace. It will be the easiest thing in the world. When he goes to sleep that night, curling a gentle arm over Alexa, he almost feels silly for ever worrying about it in the first place.

The next morning he wakes up early, along with the sun. The rays are barely glimmering through the windows as he makes breakfast and coffee, pouring it into two cups as Alexa emerges from the shower in her cosy oversized shirt, stretching like a cat.

“I texted them about the plan,” she says, arms falling to the side.

Alex pours in a generous amount of milk and takes a careful sip, barely lifting his eyes. “Oh?”

Alexa’s grin is positively devilish. “They can’t wait! We should expect them in a week or so!”

It takes every inch of his mental and physical strength to keep his cup from crashing onto the floor. No. It must be a mistake. There’s no way Miles  _ enthusiastically _ accepted. 

“That’s great,” he hears himself say, but it sounds distorted and far away, like he’s submerged in water. Alexa pecks him on the cheek as she takes her own coffee cup and saunters to the living room, but he stays there, staring off into the sun rays piercing into the kitchen. A cold kind of morning sun, just like London. 

How naive of him to think he could outrun anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title by our queen, Florence and the Machine
> 
> coem talk to me @gasdancer!


	2. confrontation

He can't understand it. He tries his hardest over the next few days, but he feels like he's stuck in a funhouse, looking at a warped image in every mirror. 

What could Miles possibly hope to accomplish? It seems to Alex that it had been made crystal clear they were barely even friends anymore, and now suddenly Miles is ready to bring his girlfriend overseas for a sleepover? It’s bizarre, and the sudden shift in terrain makes his palms sweat, and his neck prickle with uncertainty.

If this is the situation he's faced with, however incomprehensible, he has to prepare. Firstly, he has to rehearse his encouraging face at the relationship, and hide as best as he can the slimy, possessive urge that is already brewing, and is surely about to take permanent residence in his stomach. He can't show Miles that it bothers him, that it  _ kills _ him, because then they will be right back into the pits, and Miles is going to hate him all over again. 

He's not quite sure how to deal with it, or what to even expect, because Miles hasn't had anything serious as long as he's known him. There have been casual flings here and there, giggly birds that appeared like comets and disappeared just as quickly, but for all the romantic notions that Alex knows nestle deep in Miles’ heart, he’s never had anything long-lasting. He has no idea what the concept of a "girlfriend" will invoke in him, but if he judges by his feelings towards the previous girls, and adds his newfound emotional realisation, he is about to spend a week of unadulterated agony. He has to smooth it out, mold it into something acceptable and keep Miles from ever finding out that nothing's really changed.

Secondly, and most importantly, he has to face Miles himself. The mere idea that he is going to see him again triggers such an avalanche of emotions that he has to stop and distract himself immediately, otherwise he'll buckle under its weight. It hasn't been the longest they've spent without seeing each other, but it is the first time it's happened on such intense terms, and no matter how hard he tries to build up his composure, the mere thought of being near Miles again, of seeing his tousled hair and hazel eyes up close, of hugging him and taking in that comforting, intoxicating scent sends him into a tizzy, heartbeat accelerating to a concerning speed. There's real fear in there too, butting in to remind him he may be up for another round of pain, another confrontation that's gonna leave him breathless and hollow, but it's not enough to overpower the sheer, utter need. The simple fact that he is going to be close to Miles again is almost enough to outweigh any fear, enough to make him rush into the dark unknown with his arms wide open.

Almost.

Miles’ intentions are still maddeningly unclear, and for someone who used to have nigh on unlimited access to Miles’ mind, Alex now feels like he’s missed a crucial few chapters on the reading. He finds himself wanting to pick up the phone and send a frustrated _ “What the fuck”  _ in hopes it might clarify something, but he can’t, not really. Instead he stays away from his phone and just fumes, pacing around the house, and when that proves insufficient, the city, like a madman. 

There is one possible explanation, but it feels borderline utopic for him to even entertain. Maybe, in some strange manner, Miles is trying to extend an olive branch to him. Maybe the separation got him thinking like it did for Alex, maybe he realised that despite all the horrible things that happened between them he couldn’t live without Alex either. Maybe he’s traveling halfway across the world just to show Alex that the past is in the past, and that he’s ready to bury the hatchet, bury everything and be friends again. He almost doesn’t dare hope, but the more turns he takes around it in his head, the more he fails to see any other reasonable option. Could it really be? Could Alex really be lucky enough to get a second chance at this, without so much as lifting a finger?

The guest room takes a while to whip up into shape. Him and Alexa have had no use for it since they arrived, so after the initial slapdash arrangement of furniture, the room had been mostly left to its own devices, stuck in a limbo of disuse. Alex takes it upon himself to arrange it now, eagerly taking the duty over from Alexa, as she tasks herself with communications. He picks the sheets out carefully, settling on a mint green and dressing the double bed tightly, throwing a comforter on top for the chilly nights that sometimes sneak by, even on the warmer days. He makes the room presentable bit by bit, sweeping up and wiping the side tables, and then he looks around it from the door, trying to work out what would take it from livable to homely. He returns with knick-knacks from the living room to brighten up the space; a small clock on the nightstand, a tiny carved wooden owl on the table under the window, shifted diagonally to the adjacent flower vase, a metal tobacco box right in the middle. Once he’s satisfied that everything feels warm and cosy he opens the window wide, letting crisp air flow in and looking out into the city. The room faces to the east, so Miles will be waking up with the sun every morning, gently roused and ready to conquer. He takes a deep breath in, and takes one last pause before leaving. The left wall looks rather bare, and he considers his options for a few seconds. A smile toys on the corners of his mouth as he re-enters the room two minutes later, and nestles the acoustic guitar right on the edge of it, under the white window frame. 

He feels properly satisfied when he closes the door for good, two days before they arrive. If Miles is really here to rekindle their friendship, the least Alex can do is make him feel like he he’s coming home.

\------------------------

His palms are so sweaty the practically glide off the steering wheel as he makes the turn into JFK, and he can feel perspiration slowly gather inside his sky blue shirt and under the curls on his neck. Alexa is rambling about something on the passenger seat, and he catches a few words about brunch and tourist places, but he can’t concentrate enough to come up with any response other than a hum. His heart is beating out a staccato rhythm as he parks, and every step to the arrivals gate feels like it’s happening in slow motion, the commotion from the people bustling around him reduced to the faintest white noise. The anticipation has settled like a bomb in his gut, and he can feel the clock ticking loudly inside his ribcage, dragging him closer and closer to the inevitable explosion. When the first passengers begin to pour through the doors the pounding reaches all the way down to his fingertips, making them numb one after another, as people rush by, falling into the arms of their loved ones waiting. Miles is finally gonna be here, after months and months of silence, after months of thinking that he might only ever see him again at some shared festival from afar, like a dream he’s trying to remember after waking up. It’s so overwhelming it almost feels surreal, like it’s all some huge prank and he’ll end up waiting there for hours and hours, long after everyone’s disembarked, only to realise that Miles never got on that plane, and he’s been hoping in vain this entire time. All of a sudden he can’t bear to wait for it any longer. He needs to see him right this instant with his own eyes to prove that it’s not some twisted joke, he needs touch him and to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in the crook of his neck, and finally feel like he can breathe again. 

He sees Agyness first. Her bleached blonde hair pokes out of the emerging crowd, significantly taller than all the women (and some of the men) around her, and she catches sight of them nearly at the same time as Alex does. She pushes her sunglasses up, grinning brightly as she starts hopping over over faster, trolley bag zooming behind her, and then she rushes forward into Alexa's open arms, both of them giggling at the moment of contact. 

Alex barely takes in any of it. As soon as Agyness has stepped forward he can see behind her, and everything else darkens, like he's driven into a tunnel.

Miles' hair is getting longer. It's the first and only thing he registers for the next few seconds as Miles walks over, shades resting low on his nose. The strands are curling inwards almost, framing his face and neck perfectly, and they seem to be two shades lighter under the fluorescents, hazel like the colour of his eyes. Alex's eyes eventually manage to drag downwards, taking in the patterned shirt and tight black jeans, the Chelsea boots sauntering over. It feels like the least comfortable outfit for a long distance flight, but Miles has always been one to put fashion over function, and he looks like he travelled here from the 70s, or from one of Alex’s daydreams, so Alex can't find it in him to complain in the slightest. Miles' gaze falls on him as he approaches, simmering where his eyes are peeking over his sunglasses, and Alex feels the smile take over his face,  _ finally, finally,  _ unfolding his arms in anticipation of the embrace.

The travel bag lands so abruptly on his chest that for a second he almost stutters backwards under the weight, breath punched out of him. He grabs it reflexively, and then stares at the foreign object in his arms for a moment, perplexed. When he looks up at Miles, he finds him smiling back jovially. There's something wildly disconcerting about it, even though on the surface it's nothing but pleasant, but before Alex has had any time to dissect it, Miles is already moving past him.

"Help me with this, will you? Been a long flight."

Alex stays gawking at him as Miles turns to Alexa, and he watches as the smile shifts and morphs into something different when directed at her, before it gets buried on her shoulder as he envelopes her into a hug. The bag feels way too heavy, like it’s dragging him to his knees, like it’ll make him sink right through the floor. 

He can place what was off about the smile, now. He can see the Miles he knows chatting with Alexa, answering her questions about the flight and the food like not a single thing has changed. The smile he’s directing at her is genuine, the one he always has, unlike the put-on imitation he just used on Alex. Fake. Forced. Disingenuous.

"Al?" 

He snaps his attention to Alexa, who's looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Are we ready to go, then?"

"Yeah," he says, his own brand of a smile knock-off appearing on his face. "Yeah, let's go. The sooner we leave the sooner we can eat, ey?"

Alexa chuckles as she wraps her arms around his elbow, still bent out from clutching the suitcase against him. He looks down at it again. It’s the same one Miles always uses for short travels, the same he had in the studio in France, and on their tour. It feels like he’s never seen it before. He takes the handles in his left hand, right arm pulling Alexa's interlocked one even closer, and they follow Miles and Agyness, who have already stepped ahead, wrapped around each other. Miles has an arm around her shoulders and he whispers something in her ear that makes her clutch him closer, her elegant hand curling around his waist.

Alex tightens his hold on the bag and tries his hardest to keep the image of the olive branch stark in his brain as they step out into the sunny afternoon, but it seems to be fading more at every step.

\-----------------------

They walk around the city a bunch, getting around to places Miles hasn't discovered in the times he's been here for gigs, and Alex finds the tourism aspect starts chafing at him no ten minutes in. Miles and Agyness pay nearly zero attention to them as they zip through neighbourhoods and attractions, intertwined like they share limbs. Agyness does turn to chat animatedly to him and Alexa at times about how much she loves New York, and she wishes she could live here one day, but Miles barely directs a look over at him. When evening starts setting after what feels like approximately twelve hours, they decide to put an end to the sight-seeing, and end up at the River Cafe near the Brooklyn Bridge for dinner. It's the most quaint, romantic little place, all white tablecloths and neat bouquets, offset by a rustic wooden interior, adding to the cosyness. It's designed and tailored for happy couples to come and spend a pretty dime on gourmet food, looking out into the quiet river and the vibrant city across the bank, holding hands and stealing kisses under the candlelight.

Alex wants to get up and go home.

Miles and Agyness are sat across from him, and they seem to have settled quite nicely into that particular mood, shoulders constantly rubbing together, Agyness' hand frequently disappearing under the table to rest on Miles' thigh. At least, Alex hopes it's Miles thigh. The alternatives make his stomach twist, so he waves them away with hand hailing the waiter, ordering more drinks.

"Alright, alright, lovebirds," Alexa chides with a smile. "You'll get a whole room to yourselves tonight, have some patience."

Alex is relieved that at least he's not the only miffed by the excessive PDA, but it doesn't last long as the second part of the scolding settles in. He does not want to dwell on what exactly the "room to themselves" is gonna entail, and Miles' grin at it makes his teeth clench.

"Ey Chung, don't be a buzzkill now. We're not even doing anything improper."

"Yeah, as if you and Alex were any different in the early days," pipes up Agyness. She's not wrong, but Alex has found that he considers her voice to be grating and annoying, so he chooses to disagree. This also implies that this relationship is headed where his and Alexa’s is, and suddenly he can taste bile in his throat. He takes a long sip of the overpriced wine to wash it down, wincing at the tartness.

"So it's serious, then?" To his relief the question comes out earnest and genuine, if only a tad louder than he intended, but he can blame that on getting tipsy. He's not even sure he wants to hear the answer, but the implication has already been thrown on the table, and something compels the question out of him, a need to know exactly how much he should be drinking tonight. 

He can see Miles staring at him in his peripheral vision, but he keeps his eyes carefully trained on Agyness. She seems a bit taken aback by the question, looking over to Miles as if to take his cue.  _ Good one, Miles. At least you could have found one with a bit of a personality. _

Miles doesn't say anything, so Agyness turns back to Alex with a small smile. "I guess we'll see where it goes. It's barely been two weeks now, we don't wanna label things."

"Yeah, that's good," nods Alexa. "No need to rush into anything, just let it unfold." Alex takes another sip, the knot in his chest incrementally unwinding. He's not even sure why it matters, since nothing changes for him either way, but there's a certain safety in Miles being the same as always, having fun but never lingering. There are less variables to navigate. 

"We have good indicators, though," smiles Miles, and Alex's hands go momentarily numb. It's the same fake grin he had at the airport. "Two weeks is a good amount of time to get an idea, I think. Sometimes you're with someone for two weeks and realise all they’re gonna be is a good fuck from time to time. " He turns to look at Alex, eyes shining like a viper's. "You agree, Alex?"

The numbness spreads all the way up to his arms, and into his chest, probably to shield him from the punch, from the rush of pain threatening to take over. He keeps looking at Miles and his casual counterfeit smile until his eyes go out of focus, and everything blurs. From across the fog Agyness gives a little sultry smile and nudges him with her shoulder. "That's not us, though."

"No," agrees Miles, returning an equally heated gaze. "Definitely not us."

So this is what this is, then. Not a step towards reconciliation, not reconnection of any kind. 

It's punishment. 

He doesn't know if him leaving fucked things up even more, or if it was simply not enough of a remedy in Miles' eyes, but clearly he felt Alex wasn't to be absolved just yet. So here he is, in New York City with his new maybe-girlfriend, making sure that Alex understands his place, and completes his repentance in full.

He can't believe he was stupid enough to think he'd get a second chance. He can't believe he dared hope that things could be alright again.

He drains his glass, and promptly fills it up again, and when he lifts it up a second time he meets Miles' gaze over the rim, as the girls start chatting amongst themselves. He can't quite decipher his expression, suddenly seeming gaunt and rigid in the glint of the candles, but the fire is still there when their eyes lock. He feels like a defendant in chains, looking to the judge, waiting to hear his sentence. Alex has pled guilty over and over in his head, and all he can hope for is mitigating circumstances.

He doesn't shy away from Miles' gaze, even as the numbness recedes and the dull ache spreads again, rushing into his lungs and burning at every inhale. He hopes he is conveying the right things, that he is projecting them desperately enough.  _ I know what I deserve. I won't run away from it, but at least try to give me credit for good behavior. _

His eyes fall on the little curls around Miles' ear, and on his long fingers flexing on the tabletop as Miles tears his eyes away and focuses on Agyness again, and he prays to God he can manage at least that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :>
> 
> come talk to me @gasdancer!!!


	3. friction

Alcohol becomes his very best friend over the next few days. 

Everything trudges forward just as painfully as he expected. Miles and Agyness are apparently living the height of romance, hands constantly finding each other's bodies, clandestine whispers giggled into each other's ears, teasing kisses exchanged at every opportunity. Alex can't help but see it all in vivid detail, and it's the first time he wishes he could switch off his inclination to observe and just zone out into gentler, pleasanter things than the way Miles' fingers look half-buried inside her shirt, digging at her waist.

When he isn't being cloyingly sweet to his girl, Miles sets his sights on Alex, except this time any trace of loving playfulness disappears into the ether. Alex isn't sure if he should be afraid that they're going to alert the girls something is off, because everything comes through a veneer of perfect cheer, but he can feel the steel under the velvet all the same, all the cutting comments masked as teasing jokes between friends. 

The second morning Miles complains about the sun waking him up "at the bumcrack of dawn" and something in Alex shrivels up.

"We can give you our room, if it bothers you."

"Nah, don't worry about it." He lazily rubs his eye, and the smile that Alex has grown to balk at appears on his lips. "You've already done enough."

It's nice to know at least that Miles hasn't changed, Alex thinks bitterly as he grips his coffee mug. He still knows exactly what the right thing to say is, except now he's aiming to kill.

He doesn't touch the guitar either, leaving behind a poignant silence every time he enters the bedroom.

It's under these circumstances that alcohol becomes somewhat of a confidant, helping him limp through the week of sorrows he is set up to face. It's quite easy to mask it because they all drink, everywhere and all the time, either at home when they decide on lazy nights in, cracking beers open and listening to records, or at the bars they lounge at in the evenings, Alexa dragging them towards the karaoke screen, or, like this particular night, in a dark nightclub at 2am, downing shots to the pulsing rhythm. They all smile and giggle over their glasses, using the alcohol as an aid to the fun, but Alex's hand clenches the shot glass a bit too forcefully as he throws his head back. Every sip helps soothe him, gliding in his veins like an anaesthetic, to the point where the ache and the longing are barely felt anymore, muted and shrunken in the background. It never gets  _ easy _ , but it gets bearable, bearable enough to get him through.

He knows well to never overextend, stopping himself right before he goes in too deep and he says, or worse,  _ does _ something idiotic. Past mistakes have taught him that nothing good comes when he lets his inhibitions fly out of the window. It's all a matter of keeping a delicate balance. Drunk enough to go numb, but not enough to make a fool out of himself again. Wouldn't that be a sight, though. Him confessing his feelings for Miles, throwing himself into a kiss. He can just picture the mayhem, the punches flying, the tears and screams all around. He could immolate everything in two seconds if he wished to, like an Old Testament God.

He doesn't let himself dwell on that. Instead he lets the beat reverberate through him and focuses on the here and now, where his arms wrap even tighter around Alexa. It's not hard to remember that he loves it, that he loves dancing with her and kissing her and touching her like he always has, but secretly he knows that a significant part of it is performative today, as he lets his hips sway against her own. He's proving a point.  _ See, Miles? I'm here, and I'm focused on my girlfriend, and I'm not pushing any misplaced affection onto you. I've reformed. Please see that. _

He barely even looks over, merely a foot to the right where he knows Miles and Agyness are locked in a similar embrace. He doesn't need the rush he's going to inevitably feel when he looks at Miles in his white shirt and jeans, sticking on his body with perspiration, his hips grinding against Agyness' in a promise of what's to come later.

The thought transports him almost violently to another time like this, in a sticky club with lights dancing on the walls, dancing and rocking in much the same way, except that time he was kissing Miles raw, licking at his throat and feeling those hips drag right against his own, euphoric to the point he thought he'd die.

_ Fuck _ . He needs another dose of morphine. He's clearly not subdued enough.

When he elbows his way back from the bar, hand precariously clutching a vodka tonic, Alexa's hands curl around him, her wide, intoxicated smile shining like a flare. 

"Missed you." Her eyes are practically slipping closed, cheeks flushed the way they get when she gets fully under the haze of the alcohol, and he smiles back, focusing on this and this alone.

"I were only gone for two minutes." He bumps their foreheads together, and then leans in to kiss her, bodies catching to the rhythm of the music again.

They keep at it, heated and languid as the beat morphs and changes into something more heavier, and it should have stopped there, it should have been enough. For some reason though, he can't seem to help himself, and he half-opens his eyes, looking past Alexa's head. Miles and Agyness are right there, and his imagination pales to their actual predicament, mouths hungrily fitted together and hands groping at each other, bodies swaying to the music. They all hurt in their own particular way, but yet none of them are what makes his stomach dip right down to his toes.

It could have been the lights, but for a moment he could swear Miles' eyes were open, looking directly at him behind Agyness' shoulder.

\-------------------

He jolts awake in the middle of the night, pulled harshly out of his half-drunk slumber.

He isn't sure what woke him up at first, everything blurry and hazy for a few seconds while he gets his bearings. Alexa is dead to the world beside him, as she always gets when she hits the drink a bit too hard. He looks around blearily, but everything around him seems properly still, and quiet.

A set of moans cuts through the silence, muffled through the shared wall, and Alex snaps into sobriety so abruptly he almost gets whiplash.

Oh no.

He's pretty sure he stops breathing as another harmony arises from the adjacent room, first a high-pitched female whine, and then a gasp he's heard so many times desperately heaved into his mouth, that he could pick it out blindly. If he strains his ears he's pretty sure he can hear the rhythmic rocking of the bed too, mattress colliding with the wooden frame to the tune of hard, powerful thrusts.

He can't do this. He knows it was inevitable for them to get it on during their stay, a fact he tried mightily to suppress to the back of his head, but apparently not only is he going to be confronted with it, he also gets to have front row seats.

Miles is moaning harder now, even louder than her, and something dark uncoils in Alex's gut, much to his dismay. It always took more time with him to get Miles to that point where he was this vocal, but it seems he's having a much better time now, at a much faster pace. 

He should get up, put his headphones in and then fall asleep to something on his phone, music or the radio or white noise, anything other than this. It's the only right course of action, but he stays right where he's lying, feeling like someone has poured cement in his chest, locking him down.

_ "You like it like that?"  _

It's slightly muted through the wall, but it feels as if it's rasped right next to Alex's ear. Agyness assents enthusiastically, but her voice seems garbled and far-away, while Miles suddenly rings crystal clear.

_ "You wanna come on my cock, don't you?" _

Alex's eyes water where they're strained open, fixated on the ceiling above. He knows how vulgar Miles can get in the heat of the moment, how he knows exactly what filth to murmur into your ear to make your eyes roll in the back of your head, and your back to arch into his touch as he brings you off hard enough to see stars. It's been close to a year since the last time Alex was the recipient of this treatment, but it's flashing in front of his eyes now as if it happened moments ago, as if he never left that sweaty bunk bed in Stockholm.

_ That's how I'm gonna fuck you, too, nice and rough like you want it. _

He can feel the heat starting to coalesce low in his stomach, the beginnings of arousal stirring inside his briefs, but all of it is blotted out by something else, hot red and indecipherable, igniting everything to ash everything before it even has a chance to awaken.

_ I love you. _

This is where it all began to slip up. This is where Alex veered off course, and trampled on everything in his path. 

Was it just him, though? Was it all squarely his fault when Miles was the one to say it first, when he'd coaxed it and encouraged it at every turn, all the way back to that quiet night in France when he’d snuck in Alex’s bed and promised him he had nothing to fear? Could Alex really shoulder all the blame when he had a helping hand to push him over the edge? And for what reason?

He had once thought that maybe Miles' behavior could be explained by him sharing his feelings, that maybe they were on the same page and that's what it had been all about since the beginning, but he'd failed to see the other option, the one that Miles so clearly outlined for him when he first arrived here. 

Maybe he'd just said what he needed to say, and done what he needed to do, to secure a good shag while in the studio, and then on tour, where things could get hectic and lonely. Maybe they’d both used each other, after all. The ruckus behind his head reaches its crescendo, disjointed gasps and moans and words he doesn’t care to make out anymore, and he feels his blood sizzling in his veins, vision blurring, and drifting into darkness.

They are both fuck-ups then. Miles had given too much, and Alex had taken even more, and they'd bled that thing between them dry, until nothing but a husk remained.

He listens to his own breathing long after everything quietens down, counting the inhales and the exhales to lull himself back into sleep, but it refuses to come again. He rubs an angry hand over his eyes and then gets up, stumbling out into the corridor and finding the bathroom door in the dark. He switches the tap to warm, and then lets soothing water pool in his fists, splashing it harshly on his face. He keeps at it once, twice, three times more, running his wet hands back through his hair, rubbing at his neck and shoulders until the disquietude begins to ease away, inch by heavy inch. When he doesn’t feel like he’s about to jump out of his skin anymore he closes the tap, and barely spares a glance in the mirror before throwing the door open.

Miles is on the other side of the door.

He looks sheepish almost where the dim moonlight is hitting him, sharpening every angle with lights and shadows and making the whites of his eyes glimmer. He's put his boxers back on, thankfully, but the rest of him is bare, almost glowing silver.

That's how he looked like that night after the bar in France, when Alex peered at him from his bed only to find him naked, like a wandering sprite come to life. That was the night that started it all, almost two years ago. It feels like it's been longer than that. It feels like it was yesterday.

"Sorry," Miles says squaring his shoulders, in that way that indicates he's not really sorry at all. "We didn't wake you, did we?"

He kind of wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Even here, in a dark hallway in the dead of night where they're alone, they still can't be honest with each other. Of course Miles isn't sorry, and of course he doesn't care if he was too loud. It would just be another lesson, on par with the curriculum. Maybe this here isn't a chance encounter, either. Maybe he's being ambushed, so Miles can see his handiwork up close, and measure up Alex's contrition. Alex knows he deserves this, but suddenly he's so overwhelmingly tired of it all, of the games and the punishments and the lies, and he wants out. He'd accounted for the pain, but not for this heavy exhaustion, the burden of always feeling like he's walking on quicksand, the burden of becoming Miles' enemy when he used to be standing by his side. His throat feels like he's swallowed gravel, and his mouth feels numb, but the words find a way to emerge nonetheless.

"You've made your point, you know."

Miles stares at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Alex's own, as if trying to work out the answer inside them, but Alex doesn't give him time to come up with a response, to sharpen another nail for his coffin.

"Goodnight." He returns to his room as if on autopilot, legs dragging him over merely by muscle memory. He closes the door behind him, barely seeing Miles still standing on the same spot, not making a move to walk away, not saying a word to call him back. Alex collapses on his bed and allows the darkness overtake him.

_ I was your best friend _ , he thinks as his eyelids begin to drop, everything turning to a blur.  _ I could have been your everything, if you’d have let me. _

\-------------------

Miles is uncharacteristically quiet over breakfast the next morning. Agyness is cosying up to him, all wandering hands and pecks on the cheek, and he reciprocates readily, but he doesn't initiate anything himself, and he says nothing much, seemingly fixated on his toast. 

"That was so fun, Lex. We should do it again tonight," teeters Agyness, head rested on Miles' shoulder. She has that glow about her that Alex knows comes from having a good shag. He briefly wonders if that's what he looked like during the tour as well, and he focuses his gaze on his coffee, cheeks suddenly red hot.

Alexa groans next to him, mouth stuffed full of a bagel. "I don't know about you youngins, but I can't go two nights in a row. The tequilas got me good yesterday." She turns to Alex, scratching at the back of his head. "What about you love? You ready for round two?"

Alex snorts out a laugh. "It were fun but I think I'll stop at one as well. You two can go ahead, though. Seemed like you enjoyed yourselves last night."

Miles' eyes snap up at him, just as Agyness hums contentedly. "Hm, we did, didn't we? Maybe we can have a repeat just the two of us, what do you say, babe?"

Miles' eyes stay on Alex for a few seconds longer, and then his gaze strays, eventually landing on Agyness' fawning one. "Don't know, honestly. We'll see how the day goes." His fingers are fiddling with the handle of his mug. "I think I've got it out of my system."

Agyness mock-pouts, and Miles obligingly plants a kiss on her lips. Alex trains his gaze back to his plate, but to his relief the subject is dropped after that. 

Miles' demeanor shift becomes even more apparent over the course of the morning. He still doesn't approach Alex, or make any move to re-establish their previous rapport, but the hostility has suddenly vanished, substituted with careful neutrality. He even feels more reserved towards Agyness, more restrained, even despite her blatant attempts otherwise. It could all be the hangover. Of course it could. But it could also mean that something shifted, that Alex maybe managed to find a chip in the armour and get through to him last night. He wishes he could know for sure. He wishes he had an inch of courage to ask and find out.

Afternoon falls on them like a thick blanket, sun bursting through the windows and making everything simmer, and its effect spreads throughout the flat like dominos. Agyness I'd the first one to cave, falling asleep on the sofa, face pressed against the throw pillow and long legs sprawled on Miles' lap. Miles gingerly gets up from under her, placing her legs gently back onto the sofa, and then he turns, stifling a yawn.

"Think I'm gonna go have a siesta as well, especially if we're going out again tonight."

"Great idea," hums Alexa, patting Alex on the back. "We should as well."

Alex, oddly enough, isn't quite in the mood for a nap, but he obliges, and soon enough everyone's in their respective rooms, leaving Agyness to doze on the sofa. 

He lies in bed listening to Alexa's breathing even out and deepen as she drifts off to sleep, but he finds it difficult to follow suit. He can't stop his brain from firing on all directions, thinking about Miles, about what he could be thinking, about where they even stand. Would he appear ridiculous if he tried to talk to him? Desperate? Both? Would Miles pity him for trying to resuscitate a corpse, or would he be furious that he even attempted it?

He closes his eyes, trying to focus on his own breathing, or Alexa's, on anything that could get him to slow down and fall asleep. Minutes tick by, and just as he's deciding to throw off the sheet and go have a icy cold shower, he hears it.

It's a few stray, jangling chords at first, as if the guitar is brought in tune, and then a melody emerges from the thin wall behind his head, chord after soulful chord. It's not one he recognises, but it's beautiful, haunting and uplifting at the same time, in that way only Miles could achieve when struck by inspiration.

He lies still, letting the sounds steadily engulf him, and slowly put him at ease. This could be a message, now, couldn't it? A roundabout way of reaching out? He can't know for sure, and to his utter desperation he still doesn't have the nerve to confront Miles in any direct way, fearful and apprehensive like a dog beaten one too many times. All he can do is lie there, horribly rooted and tongue-tied, too afraid of a killing blow to even brave the battlefield.

His eyes fly open. Maybe not in person. But there are always ways, aren't there, especially for someone like him. His gaze falls on the desk on the other side of the room, and then in a flash, he's off the bed all but sprinting towards it. He rummages through the middle drawer where he keeps all the tools he barely uses, too formal and expensive for his everyday chicken scrawls, and after a few seconds he emerges victorious, crisp stationary paper and black ink fountain pen in hand.

He toys with the cap as he thinks, letting the rhythm from the adjacent room lead him. He may not be gifted with the beauty of making poetry through mere notes like Miles is, but he knows his own arsenal well, and his words have seldom failed him on a medium where he can pause, and place them, and infuse them with everything he has in himself. His brain reflexively goes for a lyric, a rhyme to build the verse, but he quickly decides against it. A song might be a bit too pretentious, too removed in this particular case, so instead he opts for simplicity, and directness.

He opens his eyes with a deep breath and starts putting ink to paper, as the melody draws on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me @gasdancer !!


	4. amelioration

The morning of Miles' departure, Alex wakes up way ahead of the sun, jittery and anxious. The flight leaves at 8:15, which is three hours from now according to the blurry numbers on the bedside clock, and he still hasn’t figured out how he’s going to pass the letter over.

The most direct way would be to just hand it to Miles and be done with it, but the option seems unfeasible for a number of reasons. One, he’s not sure how he could isolate Miles while they’re all in the rush of leaving the house, and he can just taste the awkwardness at having to do it in front of the girls, aside from the inevitable questions. Two, even if he did manage to get Miles alone somewhere like the airport loos, handing over a letter and then dashing off like some forlorn Regency protagonist seems ridiculous enough to laugh at, and he’d rather not start off his attempt on that foot.

Three, and most important, he’s still scared to death. Perhaps he’ll be able to face Miles properly once he manages to get himself across via text, but right now he feels he would crumble under the slightest gaze of contempt, especially when he’s opening up to this kind of vulnerability.

That leaves him with the option of stealth, which doesn’t help him feel like less of a coward, but at least it settles his nerves a little bit. It’s not the best way, but it’s this or nothing, and he can’t stomach the thought letting Miles leave like this. The ends justify the means, and this is an imperative end.

It’s not long before the entire house is whipped up into a frenzy, a flurry of motion as if Miles and Agyness have to gather up a warehouse's worth of luggage instead of two light carry-ons. Miles is hopping around from corner to corner, picking up stray lighters and half-empty cigarette packs, while Agyness tousled up her spiky hair and trendy jean jacket in the mirror. The sky is almost an electric blue, the strange hue it takes just before the first rays of dawn emerge, and Miles looks like a sprite passing in front of the alien blue light, long and lithe, hair whisking out in wavy tendrils. For a brief second Alex wants to chuck everything to hell and kiss him blind, but the urge evaporates just as quickly when Alexa emerges sipping the last of her coffee.

"We all good then?"

"Yeah, I think so. Boarding pass and Visas are in the front pocket there, and everything else is packed." Miles scratches his head as he looks around for anything that slipped his attention, messing up his hair even more. Something burns inside Alex's stomach, but it just makes him all the more aware of the envelope he has tucked below it, wedged in the edge of his trousers.

"Miles babe, can you get my bag?" Agyness teeters as she finally gets satisfied with her reflection, flashing her most charming smile. The brief flare of annoyance is overridden by the flash of opportunity jumping in front of Alex's eyes.

"Great, I'll take this one down to the car, and Miles can get yours." He seizes Miles' precious travel bag in his hand, and carefully avoids everyone's eyes as he marches to the door. "I'll wait for yous downstairs!"

He practically races down, heart hammering in his throat by the time he unlocks the trunk, so nervous that the key scratches around the keyhole a few times before he manages to force it inside and open the door.

He sets the bag down, sneaking a glance to the entrance, and then unzips the front pocket where Miles' travel documents are. The envelope is slightly wrinkled when he takes it out from his waistband, and he smooths it out as best he can, cursing at himself. _Great fuckin' start,_ _Al. Really gonna make a good first impression there, twat._

When he makes it as presentable as can be, he tucks it carefully behind the boarding pass, visibly enough to catch Miles' eye when he opens up the pocket again. He takes one final look at the front of the envelope, where he tried his best calligraphy.

_ For you. _

He positions the other papers in front of it, and zips up the bag with one final rush of breath, slamming the trunk shut. As if on cue the front door opens, and the trio emerges with Agyness' bags, chattering amongst themselves. He smiles at Miles when they arrive, finding it surprisingly easy. That was it. The die is cast. It's all in the hands of fate now.

"Ready when you are."

\------------------------

The drive to the airport passes as if through a fog, although not exactly the unpleasant kind. He feels almost dizzyingly lighter now that he knows that he did  _ something,  _ that he acted instead of standing idly and letting the hurricane wreck everything around him. 

"Can't believe we have to leave so soon," Agyness mock-whines when they arrive at the gates. Alexa spreads her arms wide and they share a near tearful embrace, laughing and swaying a bit on the spot as Alexa mutters something about seeing her soon in London. Alex's eyes lock with Miles, both standing awkwardly to the side. Miles has a casual smile resting on his lips, the one that indicates he is at absolute ease, and Alex suddenly feels self-conscious all over again, one foot on the minefield. He prepares a pleasant goodbye in the back of his throat, something that mirrors the casualness, but then Miles' hand flies up to jerkily scratch at his nose, and suddenly Alex can see behind the curtain.

He moves without any conscious choice, and then his arms are circling around Miles, solid and tangible and  _ real _ , after a week of feeling like he was untouchable. Miles stiffens under him, and Alex makes a careful, excruciating effort not to grasp too tight, not to let his breathing shake. A second later a warm hand comes up to Alex's back, patting it a few times, squeezing just for a moment before Miles is pulling away, face the perfect image of composure.

"See ya, mate. Thanks for everything," he throws behind his shoulder as he clutches the travel bag tighter, other hand looping around Agyness, who's still waving at them sadly. Alex waves at her back, smile tugging at his lips as they both turn towards their gate. 

"That was fun," sighs Alexa, hand finding Alex's. "Wish they stayed longer." 

There's a familiar touch of cologne playing in Alex's nostrils, and he averts his eyes to her just as he notices Miles' retreating figure open the front pocket zip, and reach in for his boarding pass.

"At least we made the most of the time we had."

\------------------------

He's not quite sure what he expected out of it, but what he receives is complete and utter silence. 

Realistically, he has no way of knowing if Miles even read it. Maybe he chucked it in the bin immediately after spotting it. Maybe he tore it up and handed the tatters to the flight attendant. Maybe he did read it, but deemed it utterly worthless, so Alex's words all fell into the void. He doesn't have the faintest about what happened, and it sets his teeth on edge, gets his heart hammering in his ribcage as the days pass on uneventfully. From what it seems, Miles won't be making any sort of approach until their planned reunion back in London.

They'd booked the tickets for the Oasis gig at Wembley what seems like an eon ago, long before the monumental collapse of their relationship, and at this junction Alex can't even be sure Miles is going to show up, or if he's going to be willing to talk to him if he does. Maybe he'll change his seat to one all the way across the stadium, as far away from the leper as possible. Maybe he won't even bother. Maybe Alex missed his chance forever, tossing everything into a worthless scrap of paper.

The uncertainty dogs him for the next weeks, cinching his stomach as he lands in Europe, headed for another burst of gigs before heading back home for the concert.

_ Home _ . He still hasn't shaken the habit of thinking of London as home, but at the same time the word kicks, like a puzzle piece stuck in the wrong corner. 

To his utter relief the Monkeys manage to steadfastly chip away at his anxiety, as does the rapid succession of gigs, night after night in a different buzzing city, singing and drinking and dancing along a group of people he can't understand. It goes so smoothly, in fact, that when his phone buzzes three days before the Oasis concert it lands like a bucket of cold water, numbing his every nerve ending.

_ [M]: come pick me up from the hotel for the gig will ya, around 7 x _

He blinks as his fingers hover over the keys, ready to type out a confirmation, but a warning light flashes in his head before he finishes the text. He can't help but draw the parallel to the last time something similar happened, where they separated awkwardly only for Miles to drop him a casual text out of the blue about a event they were to attend. His vision nearly blacks out at the prospect of having a repetition of  _ those _ events, so he erases the half-done affirmative, and types out again.

_ [A]: I will. All good? _

He gets up as soon as he hits send, ready to start pacing around the hotel room as he waits for a reply, but he barely gets a meter in before the phone buzzes again.

_ [M]: just come over twat _

He looks at the screen for a long, long time. When he finally turns off his phone and lifts his head, he is faced with his reflection in the mirror, and he's almost shocked to see that he's smiling.

\--------------------- 

The days hurtle by, and before he knows it he's staring at himself in the mirror of Matt's guest room, futilely fixing up his collar and patting down his hair as if he's going to a wedding instead of a rock concert. The anxiousness flares up like stage lights inside his stomach, shooting the way down to his feet to the point where he's uncertain if he'll be able to make the walk to the hotel. Miles shot him another nonchalant text with the hotel name and room number, and he goes over them in his head like a mantra, as if the repetition is going to bring him strength. He shoots off a goodbye to Matt as he leaves, barely taking in the response as he exits into the streets of London, counting his steps to the destination. 

He tries to find something to say, something good to open with, but he's not sure about the reception he's about to face, so he can't quite prepare. That text Miles sent was cheeky and brash, so reminiscent of their familiar teasing that it made his gut ache, but there's a chance he was being genuinely aggressive, genuinely angry at Alex and the tone got lost through text. His pulse rushes in his ears as the lights of the hotel lobby fizzle on the edges of his vision, and it starts pounding like a snare drum when he enters the elevator, closing doors shutting him in silence.

The words he wrote couldn't have made Miles that mad at him, could they? He traces back to the letter for one last time, word for word, trying to check for any missteps, trying to gather courage.

_ Dear Miles, _

_ This is quite the coward’s move, I know, but here there's more time for me to put my thoughts in proper order, and less chance of getting scared and tongue-tied. I couldn’t say the things I wanted when you were here, and God knows you made it difficult, too, but I should have tried harder nonetheless, and now this is my final shot at it. The hail Mary, as they say here in America. A last, desperate attempt when everything else has failed. _

_ I’m sorry. It’s all I have to give you, all that consumes me, day in and day out, all that I can think of when I’m in a crowd, when I'm with friends, when I’m alone. I’m sorry for everything I did, and I should have said it more, I should have said it better. I said it to you in London but it wasn’t strong enough, and then I said it when I arrived in Brooklyn, again and again hoping it would carry over the ocean, but it wasn’t loud enough. So I am saying it here, now, and I hope that you can believe I mean it, because I haven’t felt anything more truly in my entire life. _

_ If you can’t find it in yourself to forgive me, then that’s alright. These days you were here were agony, but they made me realise that I’d rather be close to you and hurting every moment, than not close to you at all. Perhaps you can allow me that, the pleasure of your ire, if you have nothing else left for me. _

_ I'm not hoping to justify myself, or make any excuses. All I needed was for you to know. I know I've given you plenty to hate, but I hope one day you might be able to remember what you loved about me, too. _

_ Sincerely, and forever yours. _

_ Al  _

He knocks on the door, barely hearing the rap over the thudding in his eardrums.

Muffled footsteps approach from behind the wall, closer and closer, and then the door opens, and there he is. His hair is even shaggier than when he left New York, his shirt and trousers perfectly tailored to his lean body, expression guarded and unreadable. In his right hand he's holding the letter, lightly tapping against his thigh.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, Alex frozen at the door like a deer in headlights, and just as he feels like his heart is gonna jump out of his mouth and on the corridor floor, Miles huffs out a tiny laugh, shaking his head.

"Jesus, Al. Just get your bloody arse in."

If the nickname hadn't send a wave of relief slamming through him, the unmistakable lilt of fondness in his voice would have done the job just fine. In cohort, they get him so overwhelmed he almost wants to lean on the doorframe and double over.

They're okay. Miles doesn't hate him, and somehow they're going to be okay.

He walks in on numb legs, unable to tear his gaze away from Miles, lean and graceful like a dancer, moving vaguely towards the minibar. "You want anything to drink?"

"No." He surprises himself with how sharp he sounds, and he surprises Miles too because he turns to look at him with a quirked eyebrow, but he has no patience for pleasantries and evasiveness and egg-shells anymore, not when they're here together and Miles has finally stopped looking at him like he's a pest. He gets on the small settee in the middle of the room, and pats the adjacent seat for Miles to get in. Miles hesitates only for a second, and then he's walking over, sitting down with a sigh and carefully placing the letter on the coffee table. The paper is wrinkled, but Alex can't be certain if it's from when he hid it under his clothes, or if it's from someone opening it up to read, again and again. 

"You  _ are _ a twat," Miles mumbles. His hands are flexing on his knees, as if he doesn't know what to do with them, and Alex feels the need to reach out and lace their fingers together like a physical weight, trying to push his hand forward. He counters it as best he can. "Yeah, I am."

Miles huffs out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Nearly made me cry on the plane, you know. Thank God Agyness was asleep."

Alex's stomach flips at the admission. He hates that he feels relief at those words, but it's comforting to hear his words had some impact.

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I just couldn't think of how else to approach you. Weren't brave enough to hear another put-down."

A sad smile settles on Miles' lips from where he's looking down at his fingers, eyes covered by his shaggy fringe. "Didn't have it in me to give another one, either. I thought it would make me feel better. I thought if I came over and humiliated you then I would feel good, but I didn't. It just made me miserable all over again." He looks up, finally, eyes glimmering, and Alex nearly loses his breath at how sweet he looks, how gentle, like a porcelain figurine come to life. "Made me realise how much I'd missed you, too."

The breath sails out of Alex in a long, serrated rush. Even now, even here after everything that transpired, they'd still managed to be on the same wavelength, sharing the same pain. "I missed you, too. It was all I could think about those first days in New York. It felt empty without you."

Miles lowers his head again, fingers starting to fiddle with the ring on his right hand. He says nothing for a while, and Alex feels the urgency ratchet up inside him, clamoring for a reply, for clarity. "So, are we friends again?"

_ Please say yes. Please. I'd start going to church if it meant we could go back to how we were before, if we could have even a fraction of it. _

Miles gets up, hand rubbing at the crown of his head, and Alex follows the motion of his fingers like a hawk, transfixed. When Miles turns back around his face looks torn, uncertain, and he feels his own ribs constrict, trapping his heartbeat. 

"We are friends," Miles says eventually, slow like he's trying to work out how the words fit around his mouth. "But...we oughta ease into it, y'know? You're gonna be off on tour again anyway, and I've got some things to figure out with the band, so we won't see each other for a while. And after everything that's happened…let's just take it step by step, right?"

Alex nods. Step by step may be best, as much as the dark part inside him begs to just throw caution to the wind. They did that before, rushing up a an already precarious ladder, and in the end they'd lost their footing. "Yeah, you're right. We can take it slow." He swallows around the lump in his throat. "But we can still talk, yeah? It won't be like it was these last few months."

"Yeah, of course we can talk." Miles comes back to settle on the sofa, now an inch closer to where Alex is sitting. He treasures the victory. "We'll be talking, and we'll spend some time clearing out heads properly, and then everything will go back to how it were. Before."

Alex nods again. "Yeah. Like before."

Two years may be somewhat difficult to bury, given that he'd been woefully inadequate in any previous attempts, but he can see the stakes clearly now, illustrated in Miles' still guarded face. He's ready to throw himself in the dirt if that means he'll recover the Miles he used to have, the one with the easy laugh and the even easier smile.

The one he puts on now is a fraction too strained, but it's nothing like the monstrosity that greeted Alex at JFK, and he feels like he could levitate. "Alright, then. Ready to get your socks blown off by Liam?"

Alex returns the smile, the first one that's felt genuine in months. "Let's go."

\--------------------------

The gig is spectacular, lights and guitars and raspy vocals making Alex's blood dance. Miles howls the lyrics beside him, arms swaying above him like branches dancing in the storm. When the drums to Supersonic start, Miles roars with the rest of the crowd, jumping up, and Alex is suddenly hit with a pulsing wave of melancholy. They have to separate again after this, pulled apart to separate corners of the earth, forced to say goodbye yet another time. The glumness almost threatens to overtake him, but then Miles must notice him staring, because he turns his head to look back. A smile splits his face, genuine and tinted with concert euphoria and stage neons, and Alex's nerves ease as if he's hit with a tranquiliser dart. It's the Miles he's always known, the one that could calm his mind in a mere gesture, the one that always felt like peace and riot at the same time. There's a promise in his eyes now, an unspoken guarantee. This isn't a  _ goodbye _ , merely a  _ see you later _ . 

Alex intends to hold him to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait guys. This was the last chapter I had written, but the past weeks I've found myself drawn to other fandoms more and more, and given my workload in real life, too, sadly Milex has gone way down in the list of my priorites. I have a bit of chapter 5 written, but honestly I haven't had the inspiration to go back to it for quite some time now. In all likelihood this is gonna be the last update for some time, but I hope I'll get my mojo back and finish this someday, because regardless of my feelings about the fandom this fic has been my baby for almost a year now, and I would hate to give it up without proper resolution. It is just gonna take longer than expected. 
> 
> I'm really sorry to leave you guys hanging, and I hope at least that since this ends on a positive note you won't hate me too much lol. I hope it won't be too long before I return to this. Take care!
> 
> Come talk to me at @gasdancer !!


End file.
